


Hope

by animasevera



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Cats, Depression, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, In the Fade, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animasevera/pseuds/animasevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run and separated from Hawke, Anders is visited by an unlikely companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

It had likely been hours now since Anders had curled up against a wall in the safe house. The only thing keeping him grounded in reality was the grinding of his stomach’s walls against one another. It wasn’t that they were out of food - the last merchant had enough stock, and they enough coin, to keep them supplied for a good while. The effort of preparing meals for himself had been beyond his will for some time. The most he did was brew a weak broth of root vegetables and slowly nurse it until it got cold, eat just enough to keep him from collapsing, and let his belly growl for the rest of the day.

Even Justice had begun to grow agitated - eating anything at all had been done more to appease him than for the mage’s own sake. The spirit’s voice was the only one he had heard in the month since Lysandra had departed for Skyhold. Most of what had gone through his mind were visions of worst case scenarios, some of which ended with her death and the feeling of something dark and coiled tightening around his heart. Justice, ever the pessimist, was only able to admit that nothing either of them could do would assure her return. Ultimately, staying here was the wisest decision.

It was also the most painful. His cheeks were still red and swollen, and his eyes bloodshot and stinging, from losing himself in a fit of anguished sobbing. In any other case, Hawke would have been there to offer him protection and comfort with strong arms and soft words. Their absence only made hers ache tenfold. His fear and sorrow broke out of his chest and clawed its way out to the rest of him, sucking away his strength and will.

He had not felt this weak in years. Not since he had spent the better part of a year curled up against the dark, ice-cold walls of the dungeon under Kinloch Hold.

The memories, along with his body’s growing feebleness, made him shudder and sink to the floor. Part of his unkempt hair had fallen over his eyes, but the will to even move it had fled him. The night chill was creeping in through the windows, raising goosebumps on his exposed skin and making him tremble. His gut tightened even further, to the point of pangs.

There were times when the bland, scanted meals sent by the Templars didn’t come. He had always been convinced they were doing so deliberately - starving mages were much less able to put up a fight. It also served as a cruel reminder that the Templars were responsible for their charges’ well-being, and only by submitting to their will was there a guarantee of anything even as basic as sustenance. Many nights, his hunger was too great to let him even give in to sleep. He would often go three days or more without freedom from the torments of need, until his body finally collapsed from exhaustion.

The same way he was doing now.

It was just a memory, he tried to remind himself. Just one more bad dream. It wouldn’t take long, Lys had assured him…but Justice reminded him that she still couldn’t see the future. She had no idea if the Templars would catch her. Now that full-scale war was raging, there was no way she could be safe out there. Especially not now that he knew Corypheus was still alive and well. Both of them would be after the woman he loved.

What would he do if they _did_ get her? How would he even know? Lysandra Hawke’s body could be laying in a ditch somewhere, bare to the elements as her corpse was left to feed the hunger of scavengers. A Tranquil brand could have burned away all the parts of her that he loved most, leaving an empty shell with her face - undoubtedly to be filled with whatever the Templars could think of. His fevered mind seemed to have a talent for conjuring the most horribly detailed images. Specifically, some lyrium-leashed monster using her as a receptacle for his carnal leavings, and her Circle robes tightening against the swell of her belly with his bastard inside, who would undoubtedly be taken to serve the Templars as well.

The blood of the Archdemon in his veins brought its own visions. It wasn’t a far reach from Templar slave to Darkspawn broodmother - and he had already seen that possibility.

His empty stomach tightened and heaved, and Justice threatened to burst forth from his skin. His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into the meat of his palms. There was even greater risk in Lysandra’s prolonged absence - if he lost control, there was no one around who could bring him down from it. He might as well have become an abomination then and there. Even Justice dreaded this, and let it be known by the burning in his nerves.

When Hawke was there, calming the spirit was a simple affair. She would offer a kiss to his temple, a sign of safety in her care, while whispering soft words of trust to both him in this world and Justice through the Fade. Sometimes, she would touch his heart with a hand, drawing his awareness back to his body’s center and reminding him she - and he - were still there. Then, there was a talent that seemed to be unique to her. After making sure he had been fed, she would lie him down and gently massage his full stomach with magic and the most tender and attentive touches. The original utilitarian purpose was to ease his weak digestion, a continued remnant of his year left to virtually starve himself mad under Kinloch Hold. Since then, though, it had become an intimate affair between them. For those few moments, he was able to drift into a place of relaxation and rest while still remaining aware of his presence in the world. At the end of it, every time, she would let her hands rest over his heart so he could feel the warmth of her mana. Justice had begun to understand it as a form of healing.

But there was no such healing to be found here. While Anders had lay there, drifting between wakefulness and the Fade, the sun had set, leaving the safe house shrouded in darkness and cold. Remembering the sweetness of Lys’ presence only made his stomach cramp and ache against his own internal void and his head and heart ache with questions.

He could have gone after her, but where would he start? How would he know where to go? Would he be able to find her before it was too late?

The answers were blown away in the storm that stirred in his mind. Fragmented memories had replaced much of his cognizance, and he had been left suspended in their sea.

At least, until a loud thud and strange scratching snapped him completely awake.

All he could see around him was black. “Maker, _no_ …” he gasped, trying to grasp even the idea of light. He attempted to conjure a flame, but it was only a brief, blinding flash - his mana was completely spent, thanks to his empty stomach and sleepless mind.

He could almost hear the slow clanking of Templar boots just around the corner and smell the perpetual stagnant air of the dungeons.

Whatever weakness was in him seemed to flee in the face of Justice’s rage. He rose to his feet with such haste that his swinging arm knocked a nearby chair to the floor. The spirit began a mad charge to the door. **“You will _die_ for this! EVERY Templar will die for this!”** he shouted as he flung the door open.

His nose was met with the smell of wet grass, and cool autumn rain dripped down his face. Moonlight shone down from the sky, illuminating the nearby meadow’s softly blowing wheat grass. The only sounds to be heard were the calls of local fauna, the drumming of rain on the tar-sealed roof, and… _meowing?_

A cat.

Specifically, the cat that had just crawled out from under the house. A grey tabby, dripping wet and shivering, with a belly so big it was dragging the ground. She let out another rumbling meow, slowly approaching the door.

Justice found himself curiously unable to act. Anders was now begging him to relent.

Once control was returned to him, he came to his knees inside the door with a withering sigh that broke into a smile. “Hello there…” he softly greeted the cat, offering a trembling hand for her to sniff.

The cat immediately rammed her wet head into his fingers, purring so loudly he could feel it in his hand.

That smile reached his eyes, and deeper. It flowed down into his chest, wrapping his heart in a soft white fireglow. Carefully, he picked up the soaked feline in his arms and brought her in, out of the cold. “Oh, sweetie, you must be miserable…” Slowly, so as not to startle the cat, he began to dry her off with a blanket. “Here, let me get you dry. You’ll feel a lot better.”

A soft chirp was the cat’s reply, and she nosed at his hand when it passed.

His heart skipped a beat. Even the simple act of drying the cat off fed many needs in him. Need for activity, social contact with any creature, something to focus his attention on, and caring for another living thing. As he continued to dry her, his hand brushed against the swell of her stomach. His eyes grew wide with realization that grew into an even warmer smile. “Oh, Maker’s breath, you’re expecting? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She meowed back at him, rolling around on the blanket until she was on her back.

This simple act was enough to bring tears of pure joy to the mage’s eyes. “Oh, you are Maker-sent.” He offered a careful, tender stroke to her belly full of kittens, bursting into an almost childishly gleeful giggle from the waves of pure delight flooding his chest. “You’re certainly pretty enough to be,” he cooed, scratching her ear and letting her rub her head against his hand. “Who’s a pretty kitty?” The scratching went down to her chin, which she gladly accepted. “That’s right, you are!” His interactions with the cat quickly devolved into baby talk. What little mana he could conjure was spent on drying up the water dripping from the cat’s fur.

He barely managed to render her less than damp before vertigo took over, making him stagger over to a nearby chair and sink into it as his head continued to spin. The walls of his gut pressed against one another, gnawing a cramp into his perception. His head was now throbbing enough to make him hold it. The faint echo of a song crept into the back of his mind - the last straw, before he sank to the floor.

A voice in the back of his mind prodded him to breathe. When he drew his head up, he found a soft grey nose hovering a mere inches from his face. The cat extended a paw, lightly batting at his cheek.

Anders let out a sigh of defeat. “Sorry…I’m not feeling well.” Reaching out to stroke the cat, he rose from the floor in measured stages with help from the chair. “I suppose you’re hungry, too…Maker, that makes two of us,” he sighed as he nursed his starving stomach with both hands. “We don’t really have much, but I can make do.”

The cat wove her way between his ankles, rubbing up against them and purring with approval.

That approval was all he needed. With slow breaths, he made his way to the larder and began looking through what ingredients were there - Rice, gathered wild grains and seeds, wild onions, and salted nug meat. It wasn’t much in the realm of flavor, but it would suit his needs, and the cat’s, well enough. Just the act of being able to feed himself when it was needed was enough to at least somewhat loosen the shackles on his mind. With no thought to the outcome, he began filling the pot over the firepit with the contents of the larder at random, finishing with the jug of broth they had saved. Fortunately, only a tiny spark of mana was needed to light the kindling.

At last able to spare himself a moment’s rest, he returned to the chair and leaned back into it, sighing with fatigue and burying his face into his hands. Whatever comfort was provided by the visiting stray and the promise of a full belly still could not come close to filling the void in the air left by Hawke’s absence. An ache still gripped his heart with worry for her safety.

His new companion wouldn’t leave him alone for long, though - she leapt up into his lap and placed a paw on his chest.

A weak smile came to him as he scratched the friendly feline behind the ears. He could only pray to the Maker that Lysandra would come home safe. With the cat secure in the blanket on the chair, he edged over to the fire pit and stirred the pot. The smells of its contents beginning to cook made his stomach growl in desperation and the cat raise her paw to beg. Sighing with mild impatience, he leaned down to pet the cat’s back. Under the weight of his body’s weakness, he found the floor near the hearth preferable even to the chair. Pulling the blanket loose, he spread it out on the floor and crawled back on top of it, where he anxiously waited for the stew to bubble.

The next hour and a half was spent in frustrating anticipation, during which the aroma only grew richer. It was enough to rouse Anders to sitting up and staring hopefully at the pot. “…Didn’t do too bad, for what I had to work with–Kitty, no!” he cried out, pulling the cat away from the fire pit before she was able to hurt herself. “I know you’re hungry, dear, I am too.” At last, with his last spark of mana, he put out the fire and set to filling a bowl. Once his own was full, he ladled out a bit of broth and meat for the cat. “Here, it’s all yours.”

By the Maker’s providence, the assortment of ingredients had blended into something enjoyable. He held on to his first bite of solid Nug meat, letting the flavor linger as much as possible despite the heat it left on his tongue. “…Ooh, not bad at all,” he remarked as he swallowed it. To his pleasant surprise, the cat was loudly purring as she lapped up the broth.

Another bowl followed his first, then a third, until there was a certain weight in his stomach. Relief spilled out of him in the form of a sigh that ended in a mild belch. Already, he could feel his mana returning in slow increments. It wouldn’t be long at all before he would be at something close to full strength. For now, though, he had the company of a cat and a pleasant ache of fullness in his belly. The floor was no longer sufficient to rest his tired body. Struggling his way to his feet, he offered an affectionate scratch to the cat’s head. “I’m going to lie down now, darling. Come join me, if you’d like.”

The cat lifted her head and chirped, returning to her own meal.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Anders entered the small, empty bedroom and practically fell into the bed. His first new spark of mana went to rubbing the soreness out of his stomach until only a sense of warm heaviness remained. Curiously, Justice had gone more or less silent, but there was tacit approval in it. With a soft groan of contentment, he shifted about until he was curled up on his side with his hand resting snugly on his belly. Sleep was quick to claim his mind and free it, for a while, from the physical world.  

At least, until a knock came to the window frame, followed by a voice that was not familiar to his memory. He only lifted his head, unwilling to leave the bed.

Justice, however, sprang to his protection in the armored form he usually took in the Fade. **“Identify yourself!”** the spirit demanded.

The visitor was not hesitant to show his face - an elf with a pointed, dimpled chin and not a hair on his head to speak of. “Ah, you must be the spirit of Justice that possessed this man. And _you_ …” he said as he looked toward Anders, “must be the apostate who blew up Kirkwall’s chantry.”

 **“What of it?”** asked Anders and the spirit, in unison; the accusation made both of them instinctively defensive.

“Please,” said the elf, “allow me to introduce myself.” Straightening his posture, he stepped through the wall as if it wasn’t there. “I am Solas, of the People. Ordinarily, I am a simple traveler and explorer of the Fade, but I have had a favor asked of me.”

Anders forced himself to sit up, staring at Solas through eyes that were no less tired than when he entered the Fade.

 **“What do you want?”** he asked, Justice echoing his words.

Solas approached the others, first turning to Justice with a glower, visibly biting back his judgment. “Tell me, Justice, did you sense anything strange about that cat?”

The spirit hesitated at first, but nodded. **“…I did. A fellow spirit, with a compassionate nature.”**

“Yes,” Solas confirmed, “A spirit of compassion. I asked her to find you, in accordance with that favor I mentioned.”

Now Anders was genuinely curious. “…What was this favor? Why compassion?” A thought crept into his mind, and he shifted his eyes between Justice and the elf.

There was a curl of a smile at the corners of Solas’ lips. “So I could bring news to you, of Hawke and Corypheus.”

Even in the Fade, Anders’ heart throbbed at the sound of his beloved’s name. “Go on, _please_!”

“The thing that was making you hear the Calling was a nightmare demon. It has been slain, and the Grey Wardens are free. As for Hawke…” His head began to lower.

The breath hitched in the rebel’s chest. He was already expecting the worst.

Instantly, Solas raised his head, that wolfish grin returning. “She lives. She lives, and she wishes you to know she will return to you soon. It was she who asked the favor, in fact.”

Anders was still not breathing, even with the new lightness in his chest. “L-lys…” he whispered, his oncoming tears turning it into a whine.

Justice straightened his posture, letting his crossed arms finally relax. **“You speak the truth, mage.”**

Hearing it from the spirit was all the confirmation he needed. Still, he could form nothing in reply. Tears had begun streaming down his cheeks, and he curled up on the bed with his face buried in the pillow to muffle the sobs of relief.

Solas offered a soft smile. “Compassion is pleased to have helped. The kindness you offered to the cat, despite your own suffering, allowed her to reach out to you. I, meanwhile, followed her here through the Fade, along with Justice.”

The spirit raised his head. **“I demand word with you, about this…Inquisition.”**

“Yes?” Solas answered, his back stiffening and his knuckles turning white against his staff. “What do you wish to know?”

**“What of the plight of mages? Is your Inquisition just another puppet of the Chantry?”**

Solas stifled a chuckle behind his hand. “My friend, our Inquisitor is a free Qunari mage. The rebel mages have joined us as allies…much to the chagrin of our military commander, a former Templar. We still fight against the Red Templars as we now speak. All in all, I would say that things are looking promising for us. Once all this is over and a new Divine is elected, we may very well see our freedom.”

Justice lowered his glooming gaze. **“…This…is pleasing to hear.”**

Anders had finally turned his head away from the pillow enough to speak. “Maker, please tell me this is real…please don’t just be my mind playing tricks on me…”

“You _are_ dreaming,” Solas confirmed, “but this news is very real. Hawke is alive, and Corypheus has been weakened significantly. Your nightmares should be less vexing from here on.”

There was a tightness in Anders’ chest, but it was not the usual feeling of confinement - more that something was holding his heart protectively. “Maker’s breath, I do hope so…” Already, he was imagining seeing Lysandra’s face behind the door of the safe house again.

The bald elf’s lips bent in a small smile. “I am pleased to have been of aid, to both of you. Our spirit friend has told me she wishes to remain here to watch over you. Her presence seems to console you, and she would like to do what she can.”

“…Are you going now?” asked Anders, sighing and curling up in the memory of the bed.

“I must,” Solas answered, leaning on his staff. “Besides, I imagine you’d prefer to have your mind space a bit more to yourself, hm? You won’t be alone, of course - Justice and Compassion will still be here.”

The spirit’s eyes met with Anders’ for a brief moment, and he nodded without a word before looking back to Solas. _**“Ma serannas, falon'era.”**_

“ _Ma sulahn'nehn, lethallin. Dareth era_. You as well, Anders.” With a final nod, the dreamer disappeared into the Fade, leaving the mage and the spirit behind.

Or, at least, the mage.

When Anders’ eyes opened again, the first thing he felt was something very warm pressing against his stomach and chest. It had gone completely dark in the room, but there was a gentle, cool breeze blowing through the slats of the shutters. The bed was the very same - wide enough for him and, when she returned, Hawke.

Justice had already begun urging him to check on himself. It started with a touch to his neck, and then his chest. His heart was beating slowly and steadily - a resting pace. His breaths came deep and natural, filling him with the fresh night air and coming out in soft sighs of relief. His stomach was still rather busily - and noisily - working on converting the haphazardly-made nug stew into much-needed mana. That was truly the most satisfying feeling, for the moment. He found himself with little desire to do much else, now that he knew he was in a relatively safe state. Forgivable enough, even by his own standards. With a hearty pat to his belly, he rolled over and curled back up in his usual position.

Before his eyes got the chance to drift shut, he was roused by the sound of heavy purring. The cat had apparently decided to join him, curled up, much like he was, next to his head. He stroked her head with a lazy hand, offering an exhausted smile. “Hello there, sweetie…” he murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I ought to give you a name.”

The cat chirped as if in agreement and started kneading the pillow.

“Mmm…” he mused, paging through the ideas floating about in his sleep-deprived head. The detail that his new companion had been guided by a spirit of compassion had not eluded him. The memory brough a soft, comforted smile to him, and he showed his gratitude with gentle petting. “…Hope,” he murmured aloud. “I like Hope.”

As if she understood, the cat meowed back at him and rolled onto her back until her belly was fully exposed. By the look of it, her litter was going to be large.

Anders found himself with a warmth creeping into his chest. “Oh, now you’re just buttering me up,” he joked gently, reaching out to gently stroke the cat, now named Hope’s, side with his fingertips. “Don’t you worry about your little ones…they’ll always be welcome here.” Already, his mind was leaping gleefully with visions of tiny grey kittens overrunning the safe house.

Hope turned her head a bit, offering gentle licks to the mage’s hand in gratitude and approval.

A yawn broke from Anders’ chest, ending in a sigh. “Maker, I’m exhausted…” With a last scratch under the cat’s chin, he stretched out, rolled over, and curled up again. One deep, heavy breath relaxed his muscles. He lay as still as a rock, some hesitation still holding him back from the Fade.

Yet, there was something else gently trying to guide him there. Justice, curiously, didn’t seem perturbed. In fact, something about the presence of the spirit seemed assuring. _Rest_ , he was told. _You are protected._

But that was not what held him back.

It was the cold absence of the touch of another. A particular other.

Anders sighed, longing weighing heavy in his heart. It was never easy for him to go more than a day or two without Hawke’s presence. The feeling was no better for Justice, who had himself begin to crave Lysandra’s calming touch.

_Tender hands, softly touching his heart. Comforting words, to banish his demons away. Warm breaths, shared in one another’s arms._

_She was a distraction once, long ago. Now, she’s the light back to the path. A whisper of devotion, a promise of freedom. A living heart, beating with passion._

There was a soft, familiar whisper in his ear. Her words were barely scrutable, but they left something in his chest that was unmistakable. Something drew closer to him, enveloping him in that warmth and shelter he was starved of. The warmest spot rested against the center of his chest. He found it nearly impossible to hold his eyes open against the movement of Fade wisps against and inside of him. Soon, the mage had once again left the material world for the Fade - this time a much more comfortable destination as he dreamed of pleasant memories of his time with Lysandra.

The cat curled up next to his head with a heavy but gentle purr.

 _Hope_ , he had named the host. The spirit was quite happy with this, as was the host to find care for her and her future brood. Her instincts were right - she had sensed an affinity for cats in him from the Fade, and she was fortunate enough to find the cat, shivering in the cold of the rain. She then realized that she could find help for the cat _and_ the mage just by guiding the animal to his doorstep. Possessing an animal was a much simpler, less corrupting affair than a human. The first thing she felt was the heaviness of a litter inside. This only made things seem better, from what she knew - if _one_ cat would help Anders, what would many of them do?

It wasn’t just Anders who was helped, though - he returned that kindness to the animal and the spirit both. She could hardly understand it, but it left something warm and welcoming inside her. This, apparently, was what compassion felt like to receive. If that was the ultimate result, Hope would stay here.

Justice still hovered on the edge of the Fade, shifting Anders’ hand against his stomach, much like Hawke would have done. His last waking thought was a whisper of thanks to the spirit possessing the cat before he settled into the dream she had provided to shelter him and Anders from their fear.


End file.
